Slytherin's Lament
by Half Jack
Summary: The snake is, most often, recognized as a symbol of evil. Serpents, with their fangs and slitsforeyes, strike fear into the hearts of men...Snakes are revered, feared. They are cold and vengeful. We are of Slytherin. We are snakes. [Draco oneshot]


**Summary:** "The snake is, most often, recognized as a symbol of evil. Serpents, with their fangs and slits-for-eyes, strike fear into the hearts of men…Snakes are revered, feared. They are cold and vengeful. We are of Slytherin. We are snakes." Draco one-shot narrative.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Draco, Slytherin, or any of that jazz, mmmkay?

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Slytherin's Lament

The snake is, most often, recognized as a symbol of evil. Serpents, with their fangs and slits-for-eyes, strike fear into the hearts of men. Their jaws open wide, the silent abyss in their throat horrifies grown adults into fleeing from the scene. The bite of a snake is deadly; everybody knows that. It locks its jaws onto your wrist, and the poison seeps from its teeth into your bloodstream. While the venom pulsates through your veins, all you can do is wait for death to come. In the meantime, you become blind, or writhe in your impatience for sweet release. Snakes are revered, feared. They are cold and vengeful.

We are of Slytherin. We are snakes.

There is an unspoken code amongst us. We are a clan, and we will act as such. Brotherhood is of utmost importance, and to howl against it would be treason to the pack. Even if it disgusts us, we sew our lips tightly and to not let ourselves be tempted to speak. I watch and perform such acts that cause me to vomit, but it is a vicious cycle. We protect so that we might be protected, and such a cycle must continue. I see bullying, cruelty, mockery, thievery…treason against morale every single day. I mourn for those whose souls have been marred, whose lives are swallowed by disgrace and hell.

I am a tragic member of such a congregation. My nose reaches high into the air in arrogance, so that I might assert myself as higher than everybody else. I put myself on a pedestal, high up in a tower, so that nobody can reach me. I am high up so that all of the acts performed below, look small…so that the people who are hurt, look like ants. The blood just seems to disappear into the Earth, and all is well. I ignore the screams of the ants below me. While I dwindle in my Rapunzel's tower, the suffering below is mocked by my comrades.

I point and laugh with them. I push, and I shove. I hex and I wield my social and political power as if it were actually relevant. I threaten Potter. I mock Weasely. I spit on Granger. And for what? This hideous tattoo on my arm? When will it end? In the beginning, I thought superiority was a game. I thought that it was all just a game of hide-and-go-seek, and that's what it's become. Though, the ambience has turned more sinister. I must seek my enemies, and hide my emotions, lest I hit the ground with no pulse. The Death Eaters do not accept dawdling or shame or failure. We dig ourselves graves.

I gaze into the fire every night, hoping that there might be a change in the wheel of misfortune. I pray for some sort of light to burst through and set everything on a much more agreeable course. Yet, every night is the same. The air remains colored like a crow's backside, and the fire still licks at the twilight with passionate lust. I no longer feel the heat of the blaze, nor the comfort of an oversized chair. Have all my demons come back to enslave me? Silver shackles frame my crimson palms. Though the redness might wash down the drain, how clean are our hands? The fire screams at me for an answer, but all I can do is sink into my chair, hands folded, eyes glazed.

We are a pack. We are a brotherhood. Those who do not understand this, are part of the enemy. Therein, we send our scourge and our horde for them. Let them interfere. In the end, it is we who shall be slaughtered by the hounds of hell. If you listen closely, you can hear I our /I cries, perfectly in tune with our victims. We beg to be released from the torment of the clan, but in a fit of panic, we bite. And the bite of a snake is deadly; everybody knows that.

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**Author's Notes:** Yeah. This didn't come out as well as I'd hoped, but there you are, haha. I've always pictured that Draco is not ready to be a part of the Death Eaters, and that it forces him to grow up. This is a very cynical depiction of his inner thoughts.

Please review! I love reviews. :D Me and reviews….yeah, we go way back.


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